The Clan Renaissance

An Alternate Universe Warriors Roleplay

Cyril wasn't entirely sure what 'kittypet' was supposed to mean, but the context and tone led him to the understanding that he should be offended. Well, that certainly wouldn't be an issue. "At least kittypets know how to respect their elders, something you seem to not have learned." Cyril disregarded the fact that he did not remember the last time he had spoken with someone older than him. He cleared his throat, not expecting to have such a vigorous conversation so early in the morning. Usually he was able to get away with grumbles until noontime. "What am I supposed to think when I see a youngster rooting around in the best-smelling plant in the garden? Altruism is certainly not the first thing that comes to mind."

On second glance, the other cat was not as young as Cyril had first thought. Her fur was longer than his own, mostly gray with some white swathes, and definitely a little rougher than his own as well—likely from a life lived among the brambles and branches of the woods. No wonder she was so irritable; Cyril himself was bad enough even with a comfortable bed to sleep in.

The mention of potential patients almost made Cyril laugh. "Cats will be cats, especially the younger ones," he said, bemusedly. "They can hurt themselves just as easily in your forest as they can in their housefolks' nests or running around the mines or eating more catmint than is good for them. And sure, some of them get taken away and come back. But plenty of them come to me, and it would be unfortunate if I was unable to help them." He eyed the contested catmint patch. "Anyhow, I'd say there's enough here for both of us to help whoever we may need to. Peace?"

That was easy. Cyril blinked in surprise. Sure, his words had been intended to diffuse the tension, but he hadn't expected it to work. Often what he said had the opposite effect.

Still, it seemed there was some lingering tension based on the look he had the dubious pleasure of being on the recieving end of. Had something he said been irritating after all? He tried to retrospectively parse what had just come out of his mouth, but it had been a lot more words than he was used to parting with, and keeping track of them all was a task greater than what his memory was used to contending with. Cyril shrugged to himself; she had returned his peace offering with one of her own, and it wouldn't do any good to go making trouble all over one stray expression. Maybe it wasn't even intentional. After all, Cyril was certainly no stranger to unintended squinting.

Juniper. Good name for a cat who collects plants. "Cyril," he replied in turn. With a scathing glance back at the nests a ways away from them, he continued, "Healing cats is a pretty way of putting it. To me it feels like saving cats from their own stupidity." A huff and a disparaging shake of his head. "Still, I try to help. Those who I find, those who find me. Sometimes cats from the forest, even. You are from the forest, as you say—" His eyes passed over Juniper, taking in her tousled fur, and he remembered her early jab of kittypet—"Though I haven't seen you around before. Granted, my eyesight is not what it used to be."

He started plucking at the leaves along with Juniper. She was probably not a newcomer, if her knowledge of this particular patch of herbs was any indicator, and she wasn't young enough for Cyril never to have seen or heard of her before, especially if she was in this area regularly. Of course, Cyril did not know every cat in the forest—he didn't even know every cat in the Twolegplace—but with her expertise it seemed odd that their paths had never crossed until now. What had brought them together at this point? He hazily recalled thunder and a dream and some kind of destiny, but he pushed the thought away in favor of focusing on his gathering. It was just the weather getting to him, surely.

Cyril barked out a sound that might've passed for a laugh to a listener with reasonably water-clogged ears.

"An herb to cure stupidity? I wish." He could've eaten it when he was young and dumb and experimenting with all the plants in his housefolks' garden and likely saved himself a lot of trouble. Or, as Juniper suggested, he could give it to all the youngsters making all their own foolish decisions. That was part of being young though, and privately he thought a couple of mistakes here and there were probably for the best. Still, the idea tickled him. If he snuck it into a dog's bowl, would the creature discover the fruitlessness of chasing its tail?

Caught up in his daydream, Cyril almost missed Juniper's response to his question. The marshes? Is there really no closer patch of catmint?/ Much to Cyril's chagrin, Juniper's assertion was correct; it had been quite a long time since he'd been to the marshes. Even when he was younger, he hadn't traveled much because of his leg, but eventually he ran out of plants to mess with in the garden, and well...the stupidity-curing herb flashed through his mind again.

Something about Juniper's apology—if it could be called that—struck him as insincere, and his eyes narrowed into their signature squint. He let it go, though. He was no stranger to cats younger than him reminding him of his age. Cyril himself brought it up enough, anyhow; he could hardly begrudge others for doing the same.

Still, something was off about the conversation. The ease with which their earlier argument had resolved had seemed a lucky break at first, but now with the smiling and the curiosity...Cyril smelled an ulterior motive. That said, he was not immune to a little flattery. It had been awhile, might as well milk it for all it was worth, ulterior motive or no.

"Hm, no badgers. Foxes, yes, dogs, too many." He sorted through the dust of his memories. "Other cats, sometimes. Splinters. Falling. Eating something they shouldn't." Cyril eyed the catmint as if the herb itself were at fault, but really he was thinking less of plants and more of the many, many strange substances in his nest. Sure, it was warm and food was plentiful, but some of what his housefolk kept in their nest was pungent and, frankly, terrifying.

Cyril tried to think back to his ages-old visit to the marshes. Now those were some dusty memories. "You get...hm. Muddy paws?"

Welp. So much for making a good impression. Juniper usually had a better grasp on her temper than that, and now she might have ruined whatever chances she had of gaining information. She almost expected the kittypet to run away in an awkward old cat shuffle, and she wouldn't have stopped him. She would have huffed about it, but she wouldn't have stopped him!

Luckily a distraction came charging toward them from the forest, a rust-colored blob scurrying toward them calling Cyril's name. Juniper blinked wide eyes when the blob resolved itself into a ruddy colored she-cat, younger than most of the cats Juniper currently associated with. She was followed by a large cream-colored tom, or maybe he only looked large. His fur might have even been longer than Juniper's!

He watched the young she-cat greet Cyril, and watched Cyril greet her by name in return with suspicious eyes. Juniper looked over both newcomers too, but aside from mussed up pelts didn't see any wounds on them. Cyril introduced Piper only as one of his patients, and Juniper forced a purr in greeting. "Hello to you both!" She looked over the fluffy tom whose name Cyril hadn't said and twitched an ear toward the poor catmint bush. "Don't tell me you're also a healer coming to restock your supplies. If we all keep going like this the poor thing won't have enough leaves left over for when we actually need it!"

Cyril registered Piper's outpouring of information with a mounting sense of dread. He had been valiantly ignoring his strange dream until this point, but 'some glowing rock' being 'super important' sounded far too similar to 'the stone that gleams and shines' for his comfort, or for coincidence. Normally, Cyril would have chastised Piper's companion for dragging her around the woods without knowing where they were going, but the similarities to his dream had caught him off guard, and he only said, "Glowing rock?" His voice fell somewhere in the territory between befuddlement and consternation.

With considerable effort, Cyril herded his thoughts back to solid consternation, and he hazarded a glance towards Juniper in commiseration; this was exactly the kind of thing that younger cats got up to that brought them to cats like Cyril and Juniper. He also hoped the attempt at solidarity would distract her from his interjection—his mind might not have been in its best shape, but surely talking about sparkly stones was not a promising sign.

Next, his gaze fell to the catmint bush. "It is," he replied surprised that he knew the name. Cyril's eyes returned to their squint, as he asked, "You dabble. Did someone teach you?" Cyril himself could have taught him, he supposed, or Juniper, but obviously neither of them had done so. The young tom could certainly have figured it out mostly by trial and error, as Cyril had, but he seemed too young for such a level of knowledge. Regardless, it would be good for such knowledge to be shared; Cyril would not be able to hold on to it for too much longer, after all.